black and white and red all over
by WednesdaySnow
Summary: Jerza. Wedding. It's the colors you have, no need to be sad.


**a/n**: back writing. ish. And trying my hands at Jerza because they're beautiful

**title: **black and white and red all over

**summary: **it's the colors you have, no need to be sad

* * *

**black** and _white_ and red all over

xx

Erza keeps her wedding dress in the same closet as her armors, carefully wrapped in plastic covers. Multitude of white dresses crowd her other rooms, lavishly adorned with jewels, pearls, laces and chiffon, but they amount to nothing more than fabrics that still leave her naked and vulnerable.

This one, however, the one that hangs betwixt the rusted iron and platinum, fortifies the delicacy that hides underneath the armor. It is her strongest one, she thinks, because its strength stems from her biggest fear.

For Erza Scarlet, love has always been a battlefield.

That's where it'll belong, she thinks. After all, her love was born from the screams of lost children and broken promises. She keeps her wedding dress with her armors, because she hoped to rage across the field one day in pristine white, right into the arms of the man who always seem to stand on the other side of the borderline. She deserves to exchange her vows under the witness of a bloody mess, of things close to their beginning, not under the eyes of God. She doesn't dare ask for that much.

However, her armors do not bestow on her the power to control the external world. She can only try her best to protect herself against the whims of the universe, and today is the day that pushes her to unleash her strongest defense.

Erza Scarlet pins the wisps of her long hair in place, securing her bun. The spring breeze plays with the veil that runs to her lower back. She should be shaking, should be burning and bursting at the sensation of being exposed raw to the sun, the light and the attention of so many. But the transparent veil feels more opaque than chainmail, and the folds of her dress more resilient than iron plates. Delicate fingers slide the diamond tiara at the crown of the head, the helmet completing the preparation for battle.

Erza smiles. Today, she is invincible. And she steadily begins her procession down the aisle.

Makarov offers her a hand, but he withdraws at one look at her chin held high. Erza still accepts the gesture in a firm handshake, and Makarov's face contorts as their hands part. The silly hats rest in their boxes today, and instead he wears a worn black suit. The master has always been emotional, Erza muses, but as she turns and fixes her eyes on her destination, she knows, the walk to her future is her responsibility and hers alone.

The music of the rustling grass announces the arrival of the bride, and the crowd of black stands to salute her. Erza struts deliberately, the heels of her silver shoes digging heavily into the earth. Her gait carries her forward with the steadiness of a marching army, and her dress follows in the along stream that covers her track.

Erza holds the bouquet of lilies and chrysanthemums tight against her bosom. Though the elegant detail of the top is hidden from view, the diamond patterns gather at the waist, accentuating her figure, and the scintillating stones scatter and swirl into spirals that sew the stars right into the fabric. Just for today, as she walks, Erza leaves stardust instead of destruction in her wake. She dons the universe on the hem of her dress, all its chaos and beauty, the constellations of _his_ magic and a semblance of the heaven they both slaved toward.

Every eye gawks at the celestial grandeur of Erza's presence. Lucy and Levy have tears beading at the corner of their eyes, with Juvia already at the breaking point. Erza fends off the pressure of the attention, instead concentrating her mind only on the weight of each step.

And finally, her two feet come to a halt, and Erza stands in front of the man who always fails to stand on the same side of the borderline.

She kneels onto the cold stone, sinking into the luscious bed of fabric. She reads the name on the tombstone once, then twice—and without interruption, she recites her vows silently.

_I, Erza Scarlet, promise to remember the kindness that showed me the colors of life, and have the patience that love demands, to speak when words are needed and to share in silence when they are not._

She places the lilies and the chrysanthemums on the gravestone. Her blind eye must be acting up again, she thinks, because all she can see is the white and black, the flowers and the tomb. But suddenly she catches the red of the stray strands falling over her eyes—the first color he showed her. Eyes losing focus, she asks herself once again:

_Do you, Erza Scarlet, take Jellal Fernandes as your beloved?_

"I do," she announces.

And donning her strongest armor, Erza wets the gravestone with her tears.

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**a/n**: kinda short eh


End file.
